


lifeline

by badlifechoices123



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:08:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21940975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badlifechoices123/pseuds/badlifechoices123
Summary: The sons of Gautier are used to the cold. Sylvain isn't sure about that anymore.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 3
Kudos: 59





	lifeline

**Author's Note:**

> hello. this is my first time using ao3 :')

A long time ago and way over in the North, Sylvain was fished out of a well in Gautier, breathless, sodden, and so _so_ cold. There are few memories of what happened to him between the old mossy stones of the well, but one of the things he can remember is Miklan’s silhouette against the opening of the well. Up there, by the light, taunting Sylvain with faded words and the end of the chain he tossed aside.

  
A not so long time ago, up North in Gautier, Sylvain sat gingerly by a cold stream he found in his trek into the woods. He tied his horse’s reins by a tree nearby and stuffed his gloves and gauntlets in the saddlebag. The stream water was cold and the snow crunching under his feet was colder.

  
An unwelcome thought came to his mind: the Prince of Faerghus stayed in a cell that was probably colder, and his grave, if there was one, would've been freezing.

  
Here, up in the Goddess Tower in the monastery, Sylvain stood with the breeze licking at his face. The Prince of Faerghus was alive, a shell of a man, trapped in a cold cell of his own making down at the crumbling cathedral, speaking to no one but those who beg him for revenge.

  
The sun was setting, a hemisphere against the horizon line. Sylvain remembered distantly, the eclipse of light when the lid of a well was closed, and he shuddered from either the cold that was present or a memory of it. They say that the sons of Gautier are used to the cold. But Sylvain wasn't sure about that anymore. The cold started to feel less like a drop in temperature and more like drowning. More like water swallowing him up, pulling him down with the darkness on every side, closing in.

  
Sylvain heard footsteps from behind him. It took him a lot of willpower to not flinch and turn immediately. _This is not Gautier_ , he reminded himself. _Miklan isn’t here anymore._ Rationally, he knew the person behind those footsteps. He’s heard them so many times, having lived next to the person back in academy days, and before that having slept countless nights in each other’s manors.

  
“Hey,” Felix said, standing next to him.

  
“Tired of standing watch in the cathedral?” Sylvain asked, feigning delicacy. Felix smacked his arm, granting him what he probably deserved.

  
“Anette teamed up with the professor to get me out of there.”

  
“Having you sick and tired from being watchtower is something we really don't need with the Empire’s troops on us.” Sylvain stretched his arms, knitted his fingers behind his head, but when a hearty gust of wind came blowing at him, he shivered and rubbed at his arms.

  
“So _fucking cold_ ,” he mumbled.

  
“You’d think Gautiers are immune to the cold,” Felix snickered. Then something shifted in his face, and Sylvain recognized the face he put on when concealing any bit of emotion that wasn't anger or irritation. Sylvain’s seen that face on Felix rarely, aimed at Ingrid when they’d catch her in the act of tearing up her father’s letters or the rarer times when a shadow would fall onto Dimitri’s face. Sylvain had never seen it aimed at himself, or maybe he wasn’t paying much attention. “If you stand watchtower here, we’d be one less rider in battle too,” Felix said softly, before turning to leave.

Warm spread through Sylvain like a newly kindled fire. He watched Felix walk away, feeling himself trapped in his armor as if he was standing between old stones. Quickly, he grabbed Felix’s gloved pinky with his own, holding onto him like a lifeline.

  
Breathless, he whispered to a wide-eyed Felix, “As if I’m going to let you go battle alone.”

  
Felix grabbed his hand fully, properly. He squeezed and waited until Sylvain squeezed back to take his hand away. The next moment, Sylvain felt the brush of warm lips and the rasp of faun-soft hair against his jaw before he actually registered what happened. His mouth cracked into a wide grin, tugging Felix closer to him like a chain tossed from the mouth of a well.


End file.
